Lorraine Candy: Why don't I just throw their PE kit off a cliff before they lose it?

On Monday, my eight-year-old son went to school accidentally wearing his older sister’s grey pyjama top. My three-year-old daughter was delivered to nursery with her leggings on inside-out and, despite the sunshine, she was sporting her size-too-big Frozen wellies.

That same day my eldest, 12, wore a school jumper she’d had to retrieve from the dirty washing. And our forgetful 11-year-old daughter left the house in her new coat, but came home without it.

No one knows where it is now. Run off with her lost PE kit, I expect (sometimes I think it would be easier if I threw her uniform over a cliff at the start of term to save the fruitless rummaging in the lost-property box).

Every weekday morning, we metaphorically wrestle with our four children in the chaos of the never-ending clothes conflict. This is an epic struggle, a daily battle which we can’t avoid. Is this how any of us envisaged mornings as a parent? No, it’s not.

The smaller duo need more attention in the fashion department and don’t wear uniform. Dad is to blame for the PJ top debacle and the inside-out leggings (dads never know what belongs to who and rarely check if a label is on show).

Lorraine faces a daily battle getting her four children washed, dressed and off to school wearing the right clothes the right way around (stock image)

But I’m sympathetic because dressing our youngest is a challenge. All under-fives go through the belligerent, demanding diva stage where they behave in a more volatile and childish way than Jeremy Clarkson. What Mabel wants to wear and what you want her to wear vary wildly.

I have a friend, ‘Sticker Mum’ we call her, who has a ‘going outside’ drawer for her pre-schooler. The little one is only allowed to use clothing from this drawer, and only this drawer, on weekdays and gets a reward sticker for putting her clothes on with minimum fuss.

I tried that with Mabel. She took the naked option. Then, as time ran out, she resorted to her overflowing dressing-up box — she’s number four so it’s a hand-me-down treasure trove. In the end, she went to school in a huff dressed as a midget Dracula.

It’s just as complicated for whoever is on duty with the eldest two. No matter how many times you check the night before, they can never find the uniform they need in the hour we have to get ready to go.

Tights and jumpers are a particular flashpoint. The cashier in our local M&S suspects I have a tight fetish because I buy so many navy blue pairs.

I know the pre-teen brain supposedly goes through neurological changes that mean the hormonal body it sits on is incapable of being organised, but surely it doesn’t implore the almost-teenager to hide, devour or possibly bury their uniform?

I read in a supermarket survey that the value of lost school uniforms in the UK amounts to £200 million. Is there a subject on the curriculum we don’t know about: ‘pile it up and run in the opposite direction’ lessons? Does ‘set fire to your jumper day’ exist without parental knowledge?

If not, what on earth could explain the consistent loss of such large volumes of unattractive clothing? Why can’t they all just wear a black onesie (no hood) to school?

This would be more helpful. The onesie could be passed down to siblings easily. And you wouldn’t have to sew a name label in it: if they are all the same, it doesn’t really matter whose is whose.

Actually, maybe we should all wear onesies. This would save time, wouldn’t it? OK, let’s do it, who’s in?